


a fever ahead

by PhantomhiveStripper



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Incest, M/M, poor beth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomhiveStripper/pseuds/PhantomhiveStripper
Summary: Four moments that made Beth question what was between Rick and Morty, and one realization.





	a fever ahead

**Author's Note:**

> This is un-beta'd, but I think its decent enough to post anyway, please give any criticism or feedback you want!

Beth supposes she’s always been guilty of looking through rose-coloured glasses.

  
She’d focused on how stable Jerry seemed, his constant attention and presence. But soon reliable turned to clingy, and attentive became nosy, and his smothering made her want to scream every time he touched her. She was trapped in a failing marriage that seemed to choke her, like waking up someone sitting on her chest and having to get up. anyway.

Beth never thought of her father as flighty, only spontaneous. He would run in from their garage covered in motor oil and chemicals, leaving black oil marks on the counter and on her waist when he swung her up onto his hip. Then one day he had disappeared, leaving black streaks on the doorknob and her mother sobbing at the kitchen table.

And she thought she was simply optimistic. But over time, it became clear that she was simply gullible, non-perceptive, and one day bound to get bitten in the ass by something that had been right under her nose.

-one-

She sees it at breakfast. Morty drops his fork on the floor, she doesn’t know why. Does there have to be a reason for it? Surely not, surely her son can just drop a fucking fork, be a normal clumsy teenage fucking boy-

She’s getting hysterical.

Beth’s son dropped his fork. He leaned over to his right, she remembers very clearly that it was his right, because the left side of his yellow shirt lifted up. He must have been growing lately, hitting puberty (and didn’t that just make her nauseous), because his shirts were a little short in the torso, and the left side lifted all the way up to his ribs, revealing three black ovals. They are the colour of engine oil, and the shape of fingerprints.

Beth stares for nearly half a minute before the rest of her family notices and looks at her with creased brows. She mumbles something and pulls her coat over her shoulders, leaves her cereal bowl full in the middle of the table. At work, she miscalculates a routine abscess removal, and the horse wakes moaning in pain with a swollen hoof. It is rebooked for surgery in what will be a painful two weeks, and she is sent home early.

-two-

Beth takes a detour to a tavern; their wine choice is limited, but she works her way through four and a half bottles in six hours before the bartender cuts her off and she realises her phone has 4 missed calls.

She takes a cab, leaves her car at the pub, uncaring of how she’ll retrieve it. Her phone screen flashes at her, blinking 10:42 in glowing green letters.

5.39 [From] Jerry: Hi honey. When will you be home. We have no dinner.

6.01 [From] Jerry: Okay, heard you’re out. Don’t worry about us. Be home by 10.

7.30 [From] Summer: hey mom can u stop and grab some butter on the way home we’re all out x

9.33 [From] Morty: mom are you alright? Just wondering where you are

10.09 [From] Summer: when are you coming home????

The house is dark and silent by the time she gets home. The thought of going and sliding into bed next to Jerry and waking him up feels like a monumental feat to her foggy and alcohol-slowed mind, so she stumbles towards the coach and collapses onto it. It’s too short for her body but she curls herself up, wraps her arms around herself and drifts off.

It’ll make more sense in the morning, she thinks. Morty’s always in the garage, his hands probably get dirty all the time. Or – or it was an accident.

She’s always been guilty of looking through rose-coloured glasses.

-two-

The blinding sunlight coming through the window makes Beth turn over, attempting to shove her head into her pillow. Instead she feels a scratchy material against her cheek and a thundering throb of pain burst through her skull.

The events of last night come back to her in stuttering bursts. But according to her beeping watch, it’s 7 a.m. – time to get ready for work, and make breakfast for the kids.  
Beth pulls herself up, ignored the roiling in her stomach, and goes to wash her face. By 7.25, she’s ready for work and has the table set up – but the rest of her family are nowhere to be seen.

She waits for the coffee to finish filtering and pours a hot cup, but when even the strong smell fails to bring her husband, children and father down, she places it down and heads down the corridor.

When she opens the door to Morty’s room and sees the clear outline of two people on the bed, her stomach lurches dangerously, a bolt of dread shooting down her spine and pooling in her gut. She steps forward and lets out a sigh of relief. Morty is under the covers, curled into a ball facing the wall. Her father is lying over Morty’s ankles, his lower body falling onto the floor, his flask dropped to the ground and leaking some strange purple fluid that will definitely stain the carpet. It’s obvious that her father has simply stumbled in here drunk, and passed out.

They look peaceful, even if her dads bones will likely hurt after sleeping in such an awkward position. She checks the time to see how much longer she can let them remain in peace.

Her watch flashes: Sat: 24/04: 7.31

Saturday.

Of course.

-three-

  
Beth must have only been about 6 when she had woken in the middle of the night to a creaky house. Her new pyjamas, which had horses on them, were scratching at her, and there were weird noises from upstairs; creaky noises and moaning noises. It sounded like ghosts.

Swinging her legs out of bed, Beth ran as fast as her little legs would take her; down the hallway and up the stairs to her parents room. Their door was shut, but the noises were louder now, and her heart pumped in her chest with fear.

She knocked like mom told her to always do, but the door didn’t open. Reaching up onto her very tip-toes, she took a hold of the door handle with pudgy fists and pushed the door open.

“Fffffuck,” came the raspy voice of her dad. It was dark inside, but she could see the movement of the covers, and the flash of a pale foot. A long grunting noise made Beth jump, and she squeaked out ‘Daddy?’

“What? Oh – OH – stop, stop,” came her daddy’s voice. “Shit. Beth, is that you?” Her dads face popped up from the top of the bed, his face flushed red.

“I-I heard noises and and and I got scared and – it sounded like, like a ghost-”

“Okay, okay sweetie. Just – just let your daddy get dressed, and I’ll be there in a sec.”

“W-Where’s mom?” Beth asks in a voice wet with tears.

“She’s, uh, she’s gone out for a bit baby, she’ll be back tomorrow.”

There comes a snorting noise, and then another man sits up in bed next to Rick. He looks a bit weird – he’s got white hair that’s shaved at the sides, and weird blue markings all over his shoulders and chest.

“Who’s that?” Beth asks with all the innocence of a child. Her dad pulls a dressing gown on and emerges from the dark. She loops her arms around his neck when he effortlessly swings her up onto his hip. She presses her cheek against his broad, solid chest, wrapped in his strong arms, feeling impossibly safe and small.

“Just daddy’s friend, baby. Just a-URP- a friend.”

He carries her down the stairs, microwaves a cup of milk and lets her sit on the kitchen counter as he does it. Then he tucks her in, pushes the sheets under the mattress so that she’s snug, kisses her on the cheek and leaves the hall light on so that she can sleep.

If the noises start up again, she’s too deep in sleep to hear them.

-four-

It’s peaceful for a few weeks. Rick seems to be letting Morty getting more sleep, because the bags under his eyes lessen. Even though it means they disappear weekends and after schools, she’s sure it’s helping Morty out. Those thoughts that flittered through her head a fortnight become unpleasant memories, dismissed whenever Beth remembers her ill-evidenced suspicions.

But once the seed of suspicion is planted, very little can stop it from growing. If Morty or Rick noticed the increased questioning about their adventures, or the occasional lingering outside their doors, or the glances she stole at them sitting together at the dinner table, then she didn’t mention it. And in the end, it was her own suspicion that came back to get her.

If she hadn’t had those murky, ugly ideas in her head, Beth definitely wouldn’t have headed to the garage when she woke up to a shuddering crash at 2 a.m. But she did.

Shrugging an old nightgown on, Beth crept down the hallway. Part of her knew exactly why she was trying to be quiet, even though the forefront of her mind laughed at her habit from childhood.

Familiar voices came from the garage, first too choppy to hear properly, then becoming clear as she got closer. The edges of the door were chipped and sooty, as though their landing had caused some explosion, making it unable to lock and leaving a three inch gap for Beth to peek through. Her heart thudded, and a part of her was drenched in guilt for spying.

But… something made her stop and listen.

“Jesus, Jesus fucking Christ, M-Morty, that wasn’t cool – you’re not some little hero, honestly-”

“W-w-w-wow, Rick, thanks for the a-a-appreciation!” Morty, his voice dropping the way it always did when he was stressed or angry.

“It’s – it’s not that Morty, you sensitive little asshole!” Beth craned her neck forward to see her father, his lab coat singed at the bottom, bare feet on the concrete floor, eyes blazing and fists clenched. She has to suppress a gasp when she looks at Morty. His face and clothes are covered in soot, his bare calves are scratched and scraped bloody, and his eyes are half filled with tears.

“What is then, h-h-huh Rick?” he asks, voice cracking on his grandfathers name, crossing his arms in an attempt to look tougher.

“You – you could have died, Morty!”

Beth’s breath catches in her throat at the way her fathers voice wobbles at died, and she sees his lower lip start to tremble in a way she’s never seen before, never imagined she would see. She hears a choked noise, and sees Morty’s face crumple. Tears start to gush down his face, making clear trails on his sooty cheeks, and he stumbles. His knees give out and he staggers forward; Rick just barely catches him under the armpits. Morty wraps his arms around Rick’s waist, who pulls Morty so tight against him Beth has trouble telling where one ends and the other begins.

Beth can’t help but feel a gross pulse of jealousy at the sight – this man, being more of a father to Morty than he ever had been to her.

Then Rick pulls back, kneels down and presses his lips hard to her sons, and she can’t breathe.

Morty wraps his arms around Rick and kisses back with ease, seems to entirely sink forward into the other man. Rick lets out a desperate noise in the back of his throat, and Morty seems to be trying to crawl onto him, pressing forward with scrawny limbs, but Rick detaches him with two firm hands, holding him away. He leans forward and rests his forehead on Morty’s, lets out a long, shuddering sigh.

Beth feels as though her chest is on fire, her head full of fog. She stares with unseeing eyes as Rick puts Morty on the counter, goes about clinically applying liquid to Mortys battered legs and bandaging them up. Beth seems to come back to herself in a rush, hearing her blood thunder in her ears and her breath coming in short, fast gasps. She pushes herself to her feet, and stumbles backwards. Her elbows smacks into the door, and both her father and her son turn at the noise. Through the very crack of the door, she meets her fathers wide eyes, and then Beth is running. She hears a hissed “Fuck,” followed by her name yelled out. But she runs into her room and slams the door behind her, locking it.

Jerry wakes up at the sound, rolling over in confusion. Outside the room she hears muffled footsteps skidding to a halt.

“Beth, sweetie, come on – what did you see? Why - why are you running?” He raps hard on the door. Beth can’t bring herself to speak through the lump in her throat.

“Go away,” she manages to speak, her voice thick and angry and bitter. “Don’t fucking talk to me. Don’t come near me.”

There’s silence, then more knocking. “Beth, come on, you’re tired, you’re over – over reacting, I don’t even know why you’re upset.”

She climbs into bed and pulls the pillow over her head. Jerry has drifted back asleep. The knocking and repetitive excuses come drifting through the door for another before it goes silent.

-realization-

Beth knows what she saw. And she knows what it means.

Her father is back in her life, after twenty years. She doesn’t want to sacrifice that – doesn’t want to be left, stuck with Jerry, abandoned and unworthy and trapped.

She can’t look at him anymore. That morning at breakfast, Morty doesn’t look up from his cereal once, but Rick stares at his daughter the entire time. When she tried returning his gaze, all she could see was him holding Morty tight, and the taste of soot lingered on her tongue.

He approached her in the kitchen a few days later. All he said was “Beth” before her eyes were stinging with tears, and she was biting hard on her tongue to keep a sob in. “You know I would never hurt Morty-”

And then, finally, she feels the anger she’s been expecting for days. She grabs an iron hold of his wrist, ignores the way he winces and looks at her in shock.

“Don’t you dare say that,” She says, eyes blazing, voice gritty and hoarse with anger. “Don’t you dare talk to me about my boy.”

He casts his eyes downward, opens his mouth, but Beth is gone.  
-  
She knows she made the wrong choice, letting her father stay in the house when she knows what’s going on with her teenage son. As a mother, she has done the unspeakable. But the little girl who just wants her father back wouldn’t let her do anything else.

Beth has always been guilty of looking through rose coloured glasses. Now the guilt is a constant layer of soot on her tongue, inescapable, undeniable.

**Author's Note:**

> Please give feedback! xx


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